


What difference does it make when this love is over?

by nouseforaname



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 19:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14088369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nouseforaname/pseuds/nouseforaname
Summary: “Aside from trying to make up for last year’s Fourth of July, this was a big part of the reason why we were supposed to go camping on the long weekend. The guys were tired of me moping around so they planned this whole trip in the hopes I’d find myself in the woods or something and move on.”“But I was the one who found you instead.”





	What difference does it make when this love is over?

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Sufjan Stevens' "Mystery of Love".

 

> _The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it._
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde

 

* * *

   

> **_I. Oh, to see without my eyes_ **

 

“Hi there.” Smooth as velvet. You’ll never forget the way she sounds, no matter how hard you try to scrub it from your memory.

You half-turn from the edge of the lake and you’re met with a white floppy sun hat and black sunglasses so big they cover half of her face. The lapels of her white silk robe tremble with the late afternoon breeze, teasing a black one piece swimsuit and smooth thighs. Your mouth goes embarrassingly dry for a second, before the rational part of you kicks in and you remember where you’ve seen her before. You’ve never met in person until now, but you recognize that face anywhere, and years’ worth of prejudice boil inside of you. Your parents convinced you that this is just the way things are, that this is how you’re supposed to feel. This is the only acceptable way to look at her.

“You look lost.” She raises a manicured hand to tug her sunglasses a little further down the bridge of her nose. Well, fuck - those are the largest, darkest, most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. “Are they yours?”

It takes you a second to figure out she’s talking about the boys - your boys - who are bickering over whose fault it is a few feet away. “Uh, yeah - we got lost on our way to the campground and we must’ve ended up on the wrong side of Shadow Lake.” Your eyes flit to the numerous private chalets perched high on the cliffs that overlook the water, and you’re reminded of what you’re supposed to be doing. Feeling. “Do you know how we can get back?”

Her wine red lips mischievously tilt into a playful smirk, and you suddenly feel like you’re teetering off the edge of the first drop on a roller coaster. “It’s going to get dark soon, so there’s no point in heading back out now. Why don’t you stay with me for the night and I can have you dropped off first thing tomorrow morning?”

You force the golfball-sized lump down your throat and try your best to retain your annoyance. This was supposed to be a weekend to get away from the things that have been plaguing you lately, and she thinks she can just hijack it and do whatever she wants? “Thanks, but that’s not necessary. We can-”

“My parents had to rush back to New York for some last-minute business, so it’s just me, and there’s more than enough room to accommodate all of you.” She pauses and whistles over to Archie and Jughead, who immediately drop their fight to gape at her (Well, it’s actually Archie who’s doing most of the gaping). “Come, now - it’s ungentlemanly to keep a lady or two waiting.”

Neither of them have any context for this, but they obediently pick up their belongings and follow her up the winding path that hugs the water’s perimeter. You hastily break out into a jog to catch up with them, wondering how she can walk so quickly in the soil with those heels and how you’re supposed to hate her when she looks the way she does in swimwear.

—

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Jughead hisses as you rifle through your duffle bag. “We’re fraternizing with the enemy here, Betts - you do know what her parents own, right?”

“What’s one night going to do?” Archie interjects; he’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “She was kind enough to let us stay here instead of throwing us back out into the woods. We’d be walking in circles ’til dawn without any sunlight.”

“Don’t even start, Arch.” You laugh, a playful grin teasing your lips. “Juggie and I both know the real reason why you agreed to this is because you think you have a chance with Hiram Lodge’s daughter.” When your best friend’s ears burn as red as his hair, you laugh a little louder. Your other best friend merely rolls his eyes. “Look, I’m not exactly fond of the Lodges either, and I’m fully aware she’s basically our generation’s Paris Hilton, but this is the safest idea for now. Just run with it, okay Jug? We’ll be gone in the morning; it’ll be like we were never even here.”

“But we should at least try to enjoy ourselves while we’re here. Veronica did say we were welcome to use whatever we want.” Archie points to the window. “Check out that pool. It even has a swim-up bar!”

“You’re the reason why we’re here in the first place!” Jughead shakes his head. “I knew you were wrong the second you said _All we have to do is walk alongside Sweetwater River, and we’ll be there in no time._ Why did I think it was a good idea to give you a chance? Why did I even think it was a good idea to trust you with directions?”

“Hey,” Archie narrows his eyes. “I didn’t see you helping me figure out where to go!”

“Maybe it’s because I was busy carrying the tent, and the food, and the-”

The longer you listen to them, the bigger your impending headache is going to be, so you quietly leave the room to do some exploring. This place - _Lodge Lodge,_ as she playfully put it when she brought you here about twenty minutes ago - is so big you doubt you’ll run into anyone. How does she entertain herself with a place so spacious but without anyone to share it with? You doubt she spends most of her time with her parents - no teenager, no matter how wealthy, would.

Archie’s mention of the pool made you a little curious, so you head through the sliding door in the kitchen (Which is nearly as big as half of the first floor in your house) and back into the hot summer haze. The sun is dwindling down, sinking further into the ground, and the sky is smeared with shades of red, orange, and pink. What’s left of the sunlight is rolling across the subtle waves of the pool, sprinkling white stars over the surface of the water. It’s so picturesque that for a moment you forget that you aren’t even supposed to be here in the first place, that you’re actually supposed to be in the middle of nowhere with a crackling fire and a handful of memories you’d very much like to forget. If you could somehow capture the view with your eyes and tuck the mental photograph into some deep recess of your brain, you would. You can’t believe this view is something she sees regularly. She probably doesn’t even notice it anymore because she’s seen it so many times.

But think about the people she had to step on in order to get a view like this. You have to remember that the Lodges aren’t to be trusted. Remember what Jughead said - you’re fraternizing with the enemy. As enjoyable as this is, you can’t ignore the reality of the situation. This view exists because the Lodges quite literally paved their way towards it. They make money of off peoples’ misery - your friends and family’s misery.

Even though it’s the early evening it’s still insufferably humid, so the sweat quickly returns to your forehead. The clear water laps against the edges of the pool, its waves beckoning you to come inside. Unable to resist any longer, you kick off your hiking boots and peel off your socks, plopping down by the water’s edge and dipping your aching feet in. You throw your head back, closing your eyes and almost laughing with relief. The cool water swirls around your ankles and for the first time since this long weekend began you finally feel like you’re on vacation. Screw what Jughead thinks - this feels amazing. Maybe this can be your way of sticking it to the man: By submerging your middle-class feet into the water of the bourgeoisie. It sounds like a neat metaphor, at the very least.

There’s the sound of a door opening and closing, and you raise your head to find her - the girl who found you by the lake, the girl you can’t seem to stop thinking about since she found you - in the same white robe, leaving a small log cabin hidden in the corner of the yard and traipsing down the stone pathway from said small log cabin to the opposite end of the pool. Judging by her damp hair and the fine sheen on her face and neck, she was just in the sauna - because of course the Lodges would have a sauna in the backyard. When she approaches the pool, she shrugs off the robe and it cascades to her ankles, then she reaches up to slick her hair back.

Does she know you’re here? She has to, but she’s not showing any signs of it. She doesn’t spare you a glance as she pulls up an end table next to the nearest chaise and tosses her robe on it, humming a song you don’t recognize as she lies flat against the chair and basks in…well, there really isn’t much light to bask in, now that you think about it. Don’t you need sun in order to sunbathe?

Maybe she just wants to lounge around the pool. It’s her damn summer home, she can do whatever she wants. Why is this bothering you so much?

And, more importantly, how long have you been staring?

The setting sun casts her in a warm orange glow, singling her out from the rest of the garden which is gradually darkening as the day bleeds into night. Your hands are gripping the edge of the pool so tight you can almost feel the stone filing down your nails. Your breath catches in your throat when she stands up and moves over to the steps that lead into the shallow area of the pool. Her eyes are closed the entire time, but you’re sure she knows you’re watching.

She wades out a little further, towards the middle, and hops up so that she’s floating on her back. Her arms are spread out and her legs are gently kicking. Obsidian tendrils of hair curl and twist above her head like wisps of black smoke. Her eyes are still closed. Your mouth is dry again. The seconds melt into minutes as you watch this girl you’re supposed to hate float around in her giant private pool, and you find yourself wondering how you’ve managed to live the past sixteen years of your life without her.

Jughead’s chastising voice grows quieter and quieter as she drifts around in the water, and something inside of you begins to shift; you feel a stone coming loose, which will inevitably lead to a total breakdown of something you thought was firm and true.

“Miss Veronica?” Another male voice breaks your trance; a young man is poking his head out from the door to the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready. Your… _friends_ are welcome to join in.” He’s staring directly at you, and you immediately pull out of the water, splashing everywhere and causing an overall ruckus.

“Thank you, Andre.” She’s standing again, the water bouncing around her collarbone. She glides over to the steps, wringing out her hair as she slowly ascends them, and your gaze shamelessly drops to the languid swinging of her hips and the bold curve of her backside. She casually makes her way over to the chaise to pull her robe back on; she does all of this without looking at you, and you begin to deflate with relief. Maybe she doesn’t know you’re here after all, even though you clearly made yourself present just a few seconds ago.

But when she reaches the sliding door, she quickly turns and locks eyes with you, and your heart plummets to your stomach. You sit there, frozen with shock, your jaw halfway to the ground and your eyes wider than dinner plates - but she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she throws you the tiniest, slyest of smirks, and disappears into the house.

—

When morning comes, she swoops in and claims Archie as her own.

“You know,” She’s fully grinning behind the glass of orange juice she’s holding. “One of the neighbours is holding a pool party tomorrow night for the Fourth. You should totally come with.”

Jughead shoots you a quick warning look before turning to face his nemesis. “Well, we said we’d leave first thing in the morning, so-”

“Yeah, we’ll definitely be there.” Archie takes her bait hook, line, and sinker. He’s giving her that look - you know, the one he gives all the girls back in town. You were the first one, remember? “Won’t we, Betty?”

You hate that he’s looping you into the conversation so you can take his side, but after sleeping in the world’s comfiest bed it’s kind of hard to disagree with him - but you want to be a good friend, so you try to see things from Jughead’s perspective. “I mean, the original plan was to spend Fourth of July weekend camping together…”

“We get a better view of the fireworks.” She nonchalantly shrugs. She’s wearing a black, floral patterned robe this time, partially concealing teal pyjamas that look even silkier than the robe she wore yesterday. “And if I were you, I’d rather celebrate Fourth of July from the comfort of a hot tub with an expertly mixed drink - not sipping moonshine from a jar and foraging for food.”

“Is that what you think camping is?” Jughead raises an eyebrow.

“I’m just saying that you can spend your weekend here-” She gestures to the granite counters, the chrome appliances, the crystal chandelier hanging over your heads, “-or you can spend it re-enacting Lord of the Flies. Your choice.” Her eyes meet yours for a split second before sliding over to Archie’s. “You wouldn’t leave a girl all on her lonesome on the long weekend, would you?” Her bottom lip juts out in a playful pout, and you find yourself transfixed on it.

“Lonesome?” Jughead’s immune to her charm, as he was to Ethel’s, as he was to Fangs’, as he is to anybody’s. Including yours. “You just said you were going to a party!”

Thankfully, you’re not the only one who falls for it. “Of course not.” Archie sounds indignant, like he’s proud of himself for giving into his raging hormones. “C’mon, Jug - it’ll be fun. It beats sleeping in that tiny tent. We’d be squashed like sardines.”

Jughead knows he lost this one, so he throws up his hands in defeat. “Whatever. As long as there’s free food, I’ll survive.”

“There’ll be plenty of that, so you’ll be more than satisfied.” She sets down her glass and traces the edge of her plate with her index finger. She peeks up at you from beneath those long eyelashes, and you nervously resume your breakfast.

The day crawls by, as most days in summer do. The four of you take a trip down to the lake, where Andre drives you around in a shiny speedboat. Afterward, you have a picnic by the water with the works: Tea sandwiches, checkered blanket, woven basket, everything you need to make you feel like you’re in a scene from a book you would’ve read (And probably did) as a child. She’s latched onto Archie’s arm the whole time, but every once in awhile she’ll remind you that she knows you exist - a soft touch on the shoulder, a stolen glance when Archie and Jughead aren’t looking, a smirk that mirrors the one she gave you when she caught you staring by the poolside. She’s sending you messages and while you’re not sure how to interpret them, each and every single one of them pushes electric pulses through your veins.

When the sun’s halfway into the horizon you’re lying on an inflatable lounger in the dead centre of the pool with one hand resting on your stomach and the other lazily waving around in the water. Jughead’s sulking on a beach chair in the corner, dressed in his swim trunks but not without that stupid beanie sitting on his head. She’s animatedly chatting with Archie by the swim-up bar, drinks in hand. They’re standing so close their foreheads are nearly touching, but you’re forcing yourself not to look. It’s bothering you, for some reason - actually, despite the fun things you did today, you’ve been in a bit of a sour mood for all of it. You want to tell yourself you don’t know why, but let’s face it - you do.

You just don’t want to say it out loud.

 

* * *

   

> _**II. The first time that you kissed me** _

 

You lost Archie and Jughead hours ago - or maybe they lost you. Half an hour into the party she tells you she wants to know you better, “Girl to girl”, and that she knows a place nearby where you can talk without the risk of interruption. In a half-daze, you agree to all of this.

The hot tub is hidden away from the rest of the world, obscured by tall bushes and trees. The thin cobblestone pathway from the pool is the only indication that it exists, but since it’s so isolated no one bothers to come here, so you have it all to yourselves. The chatter, the laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses, the splashing of the pool - all of that seems so far away, on another galaxy lightyears from where you are. With her.

You’re nursing your third jalapeño margarita, idly swirling the straw in its glass and hoping to God she doesn’t notice the freckles mottled across your shoulders. The arm that isn’t occupied with her own margarita is stretched behind you, across the edge of the hot tub; she shifts to make herself more comfortable, and her fingers inadvertently brush against your damp skin. Her touch ripples across your whole body like choppy waves in a storm and you shudder in response, but you skillfully cover it up by rubbing your biceps, pretending your upper body is just cold from not being submerged in the scalding, bubbling water.

“I always found it interesting that the Lodges of Park Avenue grew up in Riverdale.” You force yourself to make conversation because the silence hovering over your heads is making you very aware of your thudding heartbeat. You wrack your brain for reasons to hate her again, but you can’t come up with a convincing enough argument. “Is that why they own half of it?”

She chuckles half-heartedly to herself and puckers her lips around the straw of her drink. “My mom and I were really close to moving there last year, after Daddy got arrested.” She pauses to register the shock on your face, and she chuckles again. “Well, we were halfway out the door when we learned he was acquitted, so we never ended up leaving - but we come here every summer, whenever he’s able to escape work.”

“Sounds like things just fell into place for you.” You mumble as you try to picture her strutting the hallways of your high school. How ridiculous. How impossible. There’s nothing in your dead-end town that’s halfway decent enough for her. “Not a lot of people were happy it, to be honest - the acquittal, I mean.”

“Rightfully so.” She lazily lolls her head to the side, watching the jet streams with mild interest. The turquoise water flickers in that indecipherable stare of hers and you’re not sure if you’re lightheaded because of the alcohol or because she’s so close to you. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but a lot has changed in the past year. I’m no longer blind to the crimes my father committed, and I don’t believe his acquittal was justified. He deserves to rot in a jail cell for what he’s done to other families - but it is what it is, and I’m keeping a closer eye on him this time. I’m making sure he isn’t going to get away scot-free.”

Her words catch you off guard. “So you’re behind the foundation of the Lodge Charitable Trust, then? You donated all those flowers to Jason Blossom’s memorial. You built a new wing at the hospital after the Black Hood incident…” A couple more stones are pushed loose, and you gawk at her. “Wait. When Archie’s dad got shot, there was an anonymous donor who paid for all of the medical bills.” You pause to search her face for a trace of doubt, but when you fail to find any the very foundation of everything your parents built within you crumble to dust. “That was all you?”

Her grin is as white as the pearls stringed around her neck. “Looks like somebody did their research. If the law isn’t going to force Daddy to see the consequences of his actions then I’m just going to have to do it myself.”

You read the articles. You listened to and watched all of the newscasts. You’ve had to endure plenty of redundant rants from your mother about Hermione Lodge being the resident mean girl in high school. You stayed up with Jughead all night when you uncovered the true buyer of the Twilight Drive-In. You held a crying Ethel Muggs in the hospital waiting room for an entire afternoon. You and Archie searched tirelessly for the faceless stranger who paid off tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of medical bills. The girl you’ve read and heard about and the girl sitting next to you in a stranger’s hot tub cannot be the same person.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on your town ever since I thought I was going to move there.” She explains after taking another sip of her drink. “I didn’t realize how closely connected Riverdale was with my family until I started uncovering all of its dirty little secrets.” Her eyes find yours, and they root you to the ground. “I know who you are. I know your mother, and your father. I know what happened with your sister and Jason Blossom. I know your family owns - or, well…I guess it’s more appropriate to say _owned_ \- the newspaper.”

Your heart stutters, and you swallow hard. “I know who you are too…at least I thought I did. Now I’m not so sure.”

She lets out a sigh. “Not to sound like a complete narcissist, but being born and raised in the public eye comes with your fare share of death threats. It was only after my father’s conviction, when those threats actually had merit to them, that I realized how terrible of a person I was. It was the brutal wake-up call I needed to - pardon my French - get my shit together and actually try to become a person I don’t hate every time I look into the mirror.” There’s a pregnant pause; something in her stare melts, but you’re not exactly sure what it is. “The irony of the situation is that people paid attention when I was a spoiled, rich bitch ice princess - but now that I’m straying away from that, they’re turning a blind eye.”

If you weren’t thrown off from the cognitive dissonance before, you definitely are now. Are you supposed to hate her? Pity her? Open up to her? “Well, it’s not like you were the one who committed fraud and stole billions of dollars from other people. That’s your dad’s doing, not yours. You don’t have to clean up after him…and honestly, if people aren’t going to make the effort to see that you’re trying to be a better person, that’s on them.”

“No one’s going to do it if I don’t.” Her voice is soft, almost vulnerable for a moment, but in a flash it’s gone and she’s back to her usual self. “I must confess, though - I’m a little curious as to what you actually think of me, or what you used to think before I just totally overshared my life story with you. Actually, for all I know, you probably hate me more now that you know the truth.” Her eyes somehow grow darker than they were before. “You can be honest with me.“

You have this weird feeling that your next words are going to define you for the rest of your life, so you take some time to choose them carefully. “I think everyone deserves a second chance, especially if they’re willing to learn from their…experiences.”

“Oh, Betty.” You like the way your name sounds on her tongue. “Experience is merely the name men gave to their mistakes. You can say it, you know. I know you want to.”

You know exactly what she’s talking about, what she thinks you want to say - and yet, you’re overcome with a desire to reach out to her, to run your palm under the curve of her jaw and brush the pad of your thumb against the sleek plane of her cheekbone. This girl is the antithesis of everything you are and everything you and your loved ones stand for, so why don’t you hate her? Why are you so eager to believe her when she says she wants to be a better person? Trust is a hard-earned commodity for you, but with her it feels so natural, like it was always supposed to be this way.

“Oscar Wilde.” You respond with astonishment, and your heart flutters when she throws her head back to laugh. It’s full, bright, musical - your new favourite song. You decide that you like making her laugh.

“Not what I was referring to, but I’m glad you got the reference anyway.” Her eyes momentarily drop to the smile curving your lips, but it ends as quickly as it began and she’s making eye contact with you again - but she knows you caught her staring, because now she’s smiling too. “So…tell me, Betty Cooper: What do you really think of me?” She inches just a little closer, and like a magnet you’re drawn in, so you lean in too. You can count the crystalline droplets in her hair, glistening underneath the low lights like a tiara. “I know what they want you to think, but forget about your parents, your friends, Riverdale…everything you’ve seen or heard, for a second. Tell me how you really feel.”

So you do just that: You forget about the town you grew up in and everyone in it. You forget about the gurgling water in the hot tub. You forget about the half-drunk strangers mingling a galaxy away from you. You forget about how the more responsible part of you is wondering where your missing friends are. The only thing you can see is the pretty girl sitting next to you, and the only thing you can hear is your heart beating so hard you fear it’s going to splinter your ribcage.

“I…” Your answer hangs on the tip of your tongue as she hovers closer towards you. She’s so close you can see the hint of chocolate brown in those irises. You can smell the alcohol on her breath and your eyes drop half-closed.

What do you think of her, exactly?

You have to keep reminding yourself that you’re supposed to hate her, but ever since she came into your life she’s been giving you reasons to feel the complete opposite.

When you feel her lips against yours, the world screeches to a halt. The sting of jalapeño is fresh on her tongue and you hum contentedly when she easily slips into your mouth. You can feel her hands framing your face, her thumb neatly tucked underneath your chin, and you inhale sharply through your nose when you feel her teeth worrying your bottom lip. You clumsily set your drink aside before submerging your hands, resting them on her hips and tugging her a little closer, and she responds by lifting herself up and straddling your lap. She pulls away from your mouth to bite down on your shoulder, right by the base of your neck, and you gasp when you feel her teeth graze your pulse point.

You’re aware of the severe lapse in judgement you’re currently making, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you feel her finger hooking underneath the strap of your bathing suit. In an instant your eyes snap open and you pull away, standing up abruptly and stumbling out of the hot tub. What the hell are you doing? “Sorry-” You reach for your towel and throw it around yourself; you’re hot with shame, for some reason. “I didn’t, I wasn’t-”

The hurt and confusion on her face sends an ache to your chest, but you resist the urge to fix it. “It’s okay. I’m…sorry too. That was uncalled for.” She refuses to look at you, and it only makes the ache worse.

And with that, you turn and make a mad dash back to the party, desperate to find your boys. Looks like you’re going to be drinking that moonshine after all.

 

* * *

   

> _**III. White noise, what an awful sound** _

 

Summer is meant to be spent outdoors with your loved ones, so that’s what you do every single day. If you’re not playing baseball with Archie, you’re helping Jughead with his novel. If you’re not teaching Reggie how to properly maintain his car, you’re exchanging college application ideas with Ethel (Which aren’t exactly needed yet as you’re only entering your junior year, but it doesn’t hurt to draw up a first draft). If you’re not watching a double feature at the Bijou with Kevin, you’re spending the day with Polly and her kids. If you’re not tutoring Moose in remedial Math, you’re practicing Vixen routines with Midge. You always manage to find something to do, and by the time you’re crawling into bed you’re so tired you fall asleep immediately.

But you’re not perfect - everything that happened this past year taught you that - and no matter how hard you try to hold things together, something will always slip through the cracks.

It starts a week after the Shadow Lake incident; you and Archie are walking home from Pop’s, talking about the annual end of summer party that Reggie always throws in August. The Pussycats are set to perform, and you’re trying to figure out which songs they’re going to cover.

“Should I ask Veronica to come?” He pulls her name out of the blue, and you nearly trip over your own feet in surprise.

“You still talk to her?” You’re hoping that the sunburn on your cheeks is enough to cover your embarrassment. Every time you blink, you catch a flash of the kiss you shared at the hot tub, and it’s making you dizzy. You can almost feel the pressure of her weight on your legs when she straddled you, and you press your palms against your denim shorts so they can stop sweating.

“Well, yeah.” He rubs the back of his head, completely oblivious to your mortified expression. “She’s kind of stuck at the lake house for the summer. Her family’s still trying to lay low after everything that happened with her dad, and I kinda feel bad that she’s up there all by herself.”

You desperately claw for an excuse. “In case you’ve forgotten, Arch, the whole town thinks her dad’s the devil incarnate. Do you really think this is a good idea? The two of us wouldn’t be enough to fight off the inevitable pitchfork mob.”

His brown eyes drop to his shoes, and he frowns as he considers your words. “I guess not.”

You visibly shrink with relief, but he doesn’t catch it. He never does.

You deliberately shift the subject back to Josie and the Pussycats and he easily jumps back in, but now you have the nagging memory of her lips and the way her hands felt on your face replaying at the back of your head. You think about her the rest of the walk home, and you think about her when Archie crosses the street to his house. You think about her when you kiss your niece and nephew goodnight, and you think about her when you wave goodbye to Chic before he leaves for his late shift at the Bijou. She’s the last thing on your mind before you fall asleep, and she’s the first thing when you wake up to Jughead’s text the next day.

He tells you to meet him at the library, but when you get there at the time you’re supposed to meet he’s nowhere to be found. You call him, but he doesn’t pick up. You don’t hear from him for another fifteen minutes; a text tells you that he just got caught up in some “last minute things” with his dad and that he’ll be there soon. You know that’s code for “Serpent business”, so you tell him to take his time.

You peruse the aisles of the library, your finger absently running along the spines of titles you’ve read before - whether it be for school or by choice - and you smile as you recall the memories you’ve associated with them. You pause on The Outsiders and you recall Cheryl calling Jughead “Ponyboy” every time she saw him during that first week the Southsiders merged with your school. When you come across Alice in Wonderland you’re whisked back to earlier days - nights, actually, when you and Polly would huddle underneath the covers with a stack of your favourite fairytales and the emergency flashlight your mom keeps in the cupboard downstairs.

You round a corner and continue to squint at the different tomes, but when your eyes fall on a weathered copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray you suddenly feel the steam from the hot tub pillowing your face, and you can taste the jalapeño on the tip of your tongue. You can smell the stench of chlorine even though you’re nowhere near a pool, and before you know it you’re wrenching the book from its spot on the shelf and scurrying to the closest table. You lie the book flat on its back and feverishly flip to the first page, the preface:

_Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault._

You think about the articles you’ve read and the newscasts you’ve seen and listened to. You think about your mother and all of the poisonous things she’s ever said about Hermione Lodge and the insults she hurled at your father when she learned of the Register buyout. You think about Jughead and the Southside Serpents and how he was close to rioting when he found out about Hiram buying the trailer park.

You remember the way she looked when she told you she was trying to atone for her father’s sins. You remember the vulnerability in her voice when she said she genuinely wanted to be a better person.

“Oscar Wilde?” Jughead’s suddenly peering over your shoulder, and you nearly jump out of your chair in surprise. He’s not wearing his leather jacket, but one of its sleeves is hanging out of his messenger bag. “Didn’t know you were into aestheticism.”

You clear your throat and hastily tuck the book under your arm. “Just felt like I needed a change in pace, that’s all. Anyways, let’s get started.”

So you dive into his novel and the direction he wants to take it, and you’re so engrossed in his plans that for a moment you think you’ve finally gotten rid of her for once and for all - but then you end up taking the book home with you, and when you lean over your bedside table to turn out the light your eyes wander over to its cover, and your breath hitches in your throat. You grab it and open to a random page, reading the first thing your eyes land on:

_The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history._

And just like that, you’re sitting in the hot tub with her thighs squeezing your sides. Her index finger is trailing down your cheek and her thumb is gently nestled under your chin. You feel her breasts pushing against yours as she presses her body further into you, and your hips buck in response.

The book drops to the carpet with a soft thud as your hands skim from your chest to the waistband of your pyjama pants, and you close your eyes as you sink farther into the memory of the way her mouth felt on your neck.

 

* * *

 

> _**IV. The first time that you touched me** _

 

You continue with this routine for the next few days. You pretend you’ve forgotten all about her during the day, but at night you’re drenched in sweat with your hand down your pants. What’s worse is that after you come, you’re filled with shame, like you know you shouldn’t be doing this, that you shouldn’t be thinking about her this way. She’s caused so much pain to your friends and family, and here you are getting off to a brief moment you shared in a random hot tub. After everything that’s happened this past year, you thought you were done with being selfish.

“Veronica’s inviting us up this weekend.” Archie breaks your train of thought.

You distractedly pull away from your vanilla milkshake to gape at him. “What?”

“I told her we’d go.” He throws Jughead a pointed look. “I told her we’d all go.”

Your other best friend scoffs and drops his burger so he can childishly cross his arms. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not going up there by myself.” The redhead protests. “C’mon, guys - we’re all she has right now. She was nothing but nice to us that one weekend we spent with her. Why can’t you just give her a chance?”

A part of you wants to tell him that that’s exactly what you want to do, but for now it’s a lot easier to pretend you still hate her. After the way you left things with her, you’d rather just give into the mob mentality because it’s easier than returning to her and apologizing. “I know why you want to go back up there, and it’s not because you think her pool is awesome.” When Jughead snickers, you snicker alongside him, but your gut is wringing itself with guilt.

Archie’s clearly flustered, but he’s trying not to show it. “You have to give me more credit than that. I’m just worried about her, that’s all. Everyone deserves a friend, don’t they?” His words remind you of the conversation you had with her, how she wanted an opportunity to improve herself and show others that she was improving, and the guilt is almost too much for you to bear.

So the next afternoon you find yourself sitting in the passenger’s seat of Archie’s dad’s truck, staring bleakly out the window as the evergreen trees blur past you. Jughead, who’s begrudgingly sitting in the back seat, mutters something about turning up the music to quell the awkward silence, and Archie fumbles with the volume knob for a second before turning it up loud enough so you can’t even hear your own thoughts. You like it better that way, to be honest.

An hour and a half later you’re meekly following Archie towards the front door. You’re practically hiding behind him when it opens, and you forget how to breathe when you catch the top of her head peeking over his shoulder.

“Archiekins! So nice to see you again.” Her words wrap themselves around your chest, constricting your lungs and forcing the air out of them. She leans over to the side so she can smile at you, and you’re so taken aback by how beautiful she is that you grip onto Archie’s sleeve for stability. “Betty, hi.” She raises an eyebrow when she spots Jughead. “And Jughead too. Wow. No offence, but I didn’t think I was going to see you again.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” He grumbles as he trudges inside.

Your memory can only do so much. You glance at her perfect face and you almost want to burst into tears. Is this how people feel when they listen to their favourite song for the first time? Is this what it feels like to gaze upon a masterpiece at the Louvre? You suddenly feel like you’re grasping a cold glass of water after spending days in the desert; you were starved of her, and now that you’re back in her orbit you feel like you were just brought back to life. Everything is fresher, cleaner, more vibrant and colourful than before. You didn’t know how much you lacked without her until you were brought back together again.

The first night was awkward, to say the least. She pilfers a bottle of wine from the cellar and you share it amongst yourselves as you play through a few rounds of Monopoly. Jughead can’t stop making jokes about how eerily similar this feels to the Lodges buying out your entire town, so the mood quickly tanks and you hastily suggest watching a movie before calling it a night.

Since Jughead’s going out of his way to let everyone know he doesn’t want to be here, you let him pick the movie. You aren’t surprised when he chooses Friday the 13th, but you are surprised when she chooses to sit next to you on the couch. You try your best to pay attention to the movie but you can’t help but think about how her forearm is pressed against yours. Your eyes wander from the flatscreen to your hands, and your stomach flips when you realize how dangerously close they are to each other. You make a mental quip about how she’s wearing a dress in the middle of the woods, but then you zone in on her thighs and your throat suddenly feels like it’s closing in on itself.

The movie ends a lifetime later and you spend the entire night staring up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the tingling sensation between your legs and the unwavering urge to do something about it.

—

The second day starts off even more awkward than the night before. You wake up to Jughead accusing her of taking over Riverdale and Archie trying to get him to stop. She’s trying to speak for herself but it’s clearly falling on deaf ears, so you step in and take matters into your own hands.

“You know what? Why don’t you guys go off on a hike or something?” You nonverbally plead to Archie with your eyes. “Blow off some steam, do some manly stuff like chop wood, or fishing, or whatever.”

“I’m not one to support gender stereotypes, but that sounds like a great idea.” She loops her arm around yours, and you try to ignore the giant lump that just magically appeared in your throat. “Betty and I’ll go into town, just us girls.”

So that’s exactly what you do. Andre drives you to the small town on the side of Shadow Lake that you were originally supposed to go to, and you explore it together. You peek into the cute little souvenir shops and you fail to hide your blush when she buys you a yellow handmade woven bracelet.

“It’s for friendship.” She explains why she chose the colour when she ties it around your wrist. All of this happens without mentioning the night at the hot tub, but you’re totally okay with it. It’s almost like you made a silent, mutual agreement not to discuss it, like you’re figuratively shoving it under the rug and picking up where you left off.

You grab breakfast at the local diner and you tell her how the eggs pale in comparison to Pop’s. When she asks why a “chocolate shop” is selling eggs, you laugh and tell her everything you know about your favourite hangout spot. You gush over the milkshakes and how she has to try one someday, and when she reminds you she’s more or less exiled from Riverdale you promise you’ll smuggle one for her. She laughs at this, and your heart swells at the sound. You missed her laugh too, despite only knowing her for a weekend.

You spend the late morning by the lake, rambling on about your childhood and the misadventures you, Jughead, and Archie got into before you got older and got involved with real problems, like trying to solve your classmate’s murder and discovering he was actually your distant cousin, or struggling with the possibility that your mental illness is a lot worse than you were led to believe, or having an affair with your music teacher, or joining the local biker gang after your dad - who is also the leader of said gang - was incarcerated for being involved in your distant cousin’s murder, or trying to stop a masked lunatic from murdering everyone in town. For some reason you feel compelled to tell her everything, which is highly unusual because you’re generally very closed off towards people you don’t know very well - but every time you look at her you feel like you’ve known her from someplace else, a time and place that existed long before this one, and it’s almost like she already knows all of this, like you’ve told her all of these stories before. Does that make any sense? It’s kind of hard to explain.

“So…you and Archie.” The both of you are sitting on a piece of driftwood by the shore. “You seem pretty close. Did you guys ever…?” She trails off, but the inflection punctuating her sentence makes it obvious that she’s trying to get you to talk about the nature of your relationship with the redhead.

“Yes.” You answer almost immediately, and you can’t help but chuckle when she gasps. “We’ve been neighbours since we were four and had every class together. In a lot of ways, it was inevitable.” You stare out into the open water as you sift through the memories of your brief relationship. “It was nice in the heat of the moment, but it didn’t take long for the both of us to realize we were doing this because we felt like we had to be in it. It only makes sense for the boy and girl next door to fall in love with each other, right?”

“But it didn’t turn out that way.” She finishes for you, and you nod.

“Turns out we were better off as friends. I’ll admit that it did hurt for awhile - I really did think we had something, but when I accepted that we were meant to be best friends and nothing more it wasn’t so bad. We love each other the right way now, and it feels good, to be honest.” You pause for a second, unable to hide the grin on your face. “But I was still pretty stupid back then, and I felt like I needed to have someone love me the way people wanted Archie and I to love each other.”

“Did you end up finding someone?” She shakes her head when she realizes how stupid that sounds. “I mean, of course you didn’t, because if you did they’d probably be here with us right now, but I’m assuming you thought you did find that someone.”

“I thought I did,” You smirk, knowing she’s not going to expect the name you’re just about to drop. “With Jughead.”

You didn’t think her eyes would get any larger, but they do. “No way.”

“This literally only lasted for five seconds; he shut me down pretty quickly.” You laugh at her reaction, and she can’t help but laugh with you, and you realize how much you want this - you just want to sit here on this old log by the lake and laugh with her for the rest of your life. “He told me he didn’t think of anyone that way, and that the chances of him ever thinking about anyone in that way are slimmer than him choosing a salad over a burger, and that was the end of that.” And then you drop the bomb. “Also, we later found out that my half-brother’s biological dad is his dad…so if we ever dated, it would just be incredibly weird.”

She opens her mouth, but closes it. She repeats this two more times, and you chuckle at how adorable she looks. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I guess that’s what happens when you grow up in a small town.” You pick up a rock and toss it into the water; it skips three times before breaking through the surface and sinking to the bottom. “I think my so-called feelings for him were more out of desperation than anything. I figured that if it didn’t work out with one best friend, maybe it’ll work out with the other.”

“And things didn’t get weird between the three of you?”

“Not really. Actually, if I remember correctly, we had a laugh about it and moved on with our lives.” You rub the back of your neck as she shakes her head in disbelief. “We were going through worse things at the time and I think we realized that we needed each other more than ever, so we got over the trivial things really fast.”

“Huh.” You turn your head to look at her; she has her hands clasped atop her lap, and she’s fiddling with her fingers. “The second the people I thought were my friends found out about my dad getting thrown in jail, they disappeared. Suddenly they were too busy for me.” She laughs, but there’s no humour to it. “It seems like things ended up falling into place for you too.”

This is the first reference to the hot tub incident - an indirect one, sure, and it’s not actually referencing the one thing that happened in the hot tub that makes your anxiety go awry, but it’s still a reference nonetheless, and it’s making your neck feel uncomfortably hot. It doesn’t help that the sweltering heat from the sun is also beating down on you. “Not exactly - I mean, I’m still single even though I made several attempts to fix that.”

“Which is really shocking to me.” She cants her head. “Do the men of Riverdale have terrible taste or something? There’s no reason why they shouldn’t choose you.”

And that’s when you remember you left out another important piece of your story, a piece you realized you’ve forgotten until now, a piece that sort of led you to her. “Actually…someone did choose me, for a little bit.”

“Who?”

You keep your eyes trained on the line of trees on the opposite side of the lake. “Toni. Toni Topaz.”

You can hear the smile in her tone. “He sounds like a superhero alter-ego.”

A soft, almost sad chuckle escapes your lips. “Not he. She.” You give her a moment to digest that. “She’s a Southsider, part of the Serpents, you get the picture. After I got _turned down-”_ You make air quotations with your fingers. “-by Jughead, she became a sort of pillar of support. I know I’m making it sound like getting rejected by my other best friend isn’t a big deal…but in the moment, it was.” You drop your gaze to your lap. “It just felt like I was so unlovable, that there wasn’t anyone in the world who would ever love me…but she came in and changed that.”

You feel her twitch beside you, like she wants to reach out to you but made the last-minute decision not to. “What happened?”

“Cheryl Blossom - Jason’s sister.” Your smile is rueful. “It turns out she was feeling loveless too. After her brother died and everything that happened with her mom, she didn’t have anyone. I had my friends, at least, but she didn’t have a single person to lean on for anything - but Toni, being the caring person that she is, wanted to be there for her too and tried her best to divide her time between the both of us. It was like playing a sick, twisted version of tug-of-war, with Toni being tugged.” You can feel your eyes stinging and you laugh again. “At the end of the day I realized I cared about her too much to see her like this, so I told her to be with Cheryl. I wanted her to be happy, and I wanted Cheryl to be happy too. They deserve to be happy together.”

The tips of her fingers skirt across your wrist but she pulls back, unsure of how far you want her to go. “I’m so sorry, Betty.”

You shake your head and bend over to pick up another rock. This one skips five times. “Aside from trying to make up for last year’s Fourth of July, this was a big part of the reason why we were supposed to go camping on the long weekend. The guys were tired of me moping around so they planned this whole trip in the hopes I’d find myself in the woods or something and move on.”

“But I was the one who found you instead.” You turn to look at her, and the smile she’s giving you is so radiant and full of affection it actually causes you to start crying. She reaches for you, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks, and when she leans in to kiss the side of your head you sigh with relief. “You deserve all the love in the universe, Betty Cooper.”

You lean into her, and she wraps her arms around you and holds you close. You sniffle against her shoulder as she rubs circles on your back, and you close your eyes and concentrate on the warmth of her body against yours and the rhythm of her breathing. It’s right then and there you decide that everything Jughead and your parents want you to believe about her is a lie, and that from now on you’re going to do whatever it takes to prove them wrong.

—

You regroup with the boys by the pool later that afternoon. Tensions have simmered down somewhat, and by “somewhat” you mean “They’re not really talking to each other or acknowledging they exist, but they’re not arguing and that’s all that really matters”. Archie and Jughead are wrestling in the water and the both of you half-sunbathe, half-watch them for a moment before she suggests heading into the sauna. You make a remark about how it’s hot enough outside, but she dismisses you with a wave of her hand and a, “It’s a whole other world when you’re sweating by choice, Betty.”, before beckoning you to follow her.

The little shack is a lot bigger on the inside, with three-tiered benches lining the perimeter and a medium-sized stove in the middle of the room. She reaches for the wooden bucket in the corner and pours a little bit of water over the rocks, humming as the steam hisses and rises into the air. You awkwardly take a seat on the middle tier, not really sure what to do. You’ve never been in a sauna before. Are you just supposed to sit here and drown in your own perspiration?

She takes the tier below you, stretching out and lying across the bench with the back of her hand pressed against her forehead and the other hand flat on her abdomen. You decide to do something similar, shifting so that you’re lying on your stomach with your arms crossed beneath your chin. Your eyes run over her thighs, the curves of her hips, the way her bathing suit is strained against her breasts, and you almost want to groan at how perfect she is.

Her eyes open and immediately find yours. “Betty, about that night at the party…”

You’re not sure what’s worse: The fact that she caught you ogling, or the fact that she brought you here so you could talk about the hot tub incident. “What about it?” You play dumb, as if it’s your best option. You want to smack yourself.

She pushes her upper body up on her elbows so she can get a better look at you. “What I did that night, I just want to let you know that I feel terrible about it, and I hated that I scared you off. We’ve been avoiding it all day and I just want to clear the air now so things don’t have to get weird between us. I really like spending time with you, and I actually think you’re my first real friend, and I really don’t want to mess that up because you’ve been amazing to me so far and I just-”

You lean over the edge of the bench and press your lips against hers. You hear her gasp in surprise, but she quickly melts into the kiss and presses her palms against your cheeks, tugging you closer. You shimmy over the bench, slowly lowering yourself on top of her; her hands move to your hair, pulling out the elastic holding your ponytail together, and you press your hips into hers when you feel your blonde strands falling over your shoulders.

You wanted to do this the second you left her by the hot tub that night. A part of you wonders if it’s possible you wanted to do this long before you even met her, because the more you kiss the more you realize how much you missed this, as if you’ve done this thousands of times in the past. You kiss her and there’s a familiarity in the way she tastes, like a favourite sweet you’ve had as a child but haven’t had since. You kiss every inch of her skin and her body reacts to your every touch and you realize you’re addicted to her, you crave the noises she makes when you touch her the way she wants you to and you relish the way her hands grasp at your biceps when your teeth gently scrape against the sensitive skin of her neck.

“Betty…” She’s toying with the strap of your bikini top, but this time you’re not going to run away. Instead, you pull it off yourself and toss it over your shoulder. She rises up to capture your mouth with her own, and you sit up, pulling her onto your lap. She moves to trail kisses down your neck, biting gently on your shoulder, and her hands skirt down your waist and grasp at your thighs. You moan at the sensation, tightening your grip on her hips, and when she dips a hand in between your legs your only response is to kiss her again. You feel her fingers pushing your swimsuit aside so she can easily slip into you, and your eyes flutter to a close at the sensation.

That voice from before, the one that said you were making a big mistake, tries to speak up again, but you know better now. As she sinks further into you, you push that voice farther away until you can’t hear it anymore. The only thing that matters is her. All you see, all you hear, all you taste, all you can feel is her. She is everything to you now, and you don’t want that to change.

 

* * *

   

> _**V. Cursed by the love that I received** _

 

You make weekly, almost daily solo trips to Shadow Lake after that. You tell your mom you’re just hanging out with Archie, and Archie doesn’t know why you suddenly turned a 180 on her but he’s happy you’re finally giving her a chance so he agrees to play along if Alice ever asks him about it. You don’t even care that you’re blowing all the money you made a few years ago from babysitting on gas.

By day you’re sugary sweet, two kids in puppy love - stealing a bite of each other’s food at the town diner, walking hand-in-hand by the lakeside, stealing kisses while you’re wandering the forest trails, having splash fights in the pool - but by night your clothes are on her bedroom floor and your hands are roaming everywhere, tangling themselves in her hair, gripping her shoulders, gently scratching her lower back, stroking the sensitive skin on the insides of her thighs. You love the way she sounds when you’re between her legs, your tongue tracing the letters of your name on that part of her body that you love most. You’re enamoured by the way her hips quiver when she’s just about to come, and the way she screams your name when she does.

But there’s more to it than that. When you wake up in the morning and the first thing you see is her bedhead splayed out on the pillow next to yours, your heart swells with something you thought you’d never be able to feel again. When she rolls on her side and reaches out to you in her sleep, you’re floored by the realization that she wants you, that she needs you, that you’re the only thing that matters to her. This whole other person craves you just as much as you crave them. The pining is mutual for once.

One day you decide to wake up a little earlier than usual so you can fix breakfast for her. You’re flipping blueberry pancakes when you hear her pad into the kitchen. The only thing she’s wearing is the red plaid shirt you had on last night (Before she ripped it off you). “Well, what do we have here?”

You give her your biggest, dumbest grin as you head over to the table, gesturing to the spread you set up for the both of you. “Breakfast is served.” You pull out a chair for her and she laughs at your ridiculousness before she sits down. You sit across from her and blush when she tells you that these pancakes are even better than the ones her personal chef back at the Dakota would make.

Just when you thought your life couldn’t get any more perfect you hear the front door swing open, and when Hiram and Hermione Lodge step inside you freeze with fear.

“Mom! Daddy!” She rises to her feet and prances over to them, kissing their cheeks and wrapping her arms around their necks like nothing is out of the ordinary. “You’re back early.”

“We managed to finish up a lot earlier than expected, so we came back as soon as we could. We didn’t want to leave you here on your own…” Hiram eyes the shirt she’s wearing, then glances over to you, and you swear you’re going to shit yourself. “But it looks like you’ve made a friend.”

She peers over your shoulder to briefly smile at you. “This is Betty Cooper.”

You gracelessly rise from your seat and almost knock your chair over. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Lodge.”

His eyes darken at the slightest when he hears your name, but he retains his smile. He shakes your hand and you hope he doesn’t feel it quivering. “Ah, yes. Of course. I know your parents - my wife and I grew up with them, actually. Good people - hardworking, dedicated to their craft.”

“I know.” You’re withering under the intensity of his stare. “M-my mom’s mentioned that before - about you guys going to the same school and everything.”

You’re pretty sure Hermione senses your nervousness, because she steps in between you. “Well, Hiram and I are just going to get settled in. We don’t want to intrude on anything. You kids have fun.” She pulls her husband away, leaving the two of you standing at the mouth of the kitchen.

You suddenly feel like you need to pack your things and go home. Did you really think this was going to last? You’re not having an affair, but it feels like you’re cheating on your family, on your friends, on your entire hometown. You’re no longer just fraternizing with the enemy, you’re sleeping with her too, and-

“Hey.” You feel her hand on your cheek, and your thoughts quickly evaporate. You kiss the heel of her palm and close your eyes when she lowers her hand to your shoulder, pulling you towards her. “Whatever it is you’re freaking out about, don’t. It’s not as bad as you think it is.”

“Are you sure about that?” You instinctively wrap your arms around her middle and bury your face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. “Your dad looked like he wanted to hunt me for sport.”

“That’s just the way he always looks. Don’t think about it too much.” You feel her fingers gingerly rubbing the back of your head, playing with the baby hairs on the base of your neck, and you drop a kiss on her shoulder before she pulls you back to the table. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like an extra helping of those amazing pancakes.” She slips back into her seat and digs right in, casually picking up where you left off. How the hell does she do that?

You try your best to enjoy the rest of the day, but you can’t shake the feeling that Hiram is watching you. Even when you head into town for the afternoon, even when you’re out on the water on a small rowboat that can only fit two people, even when his daughter has you pinned against the trunk of a tree in a quiet corner of the forest with her hands wandering up your shirt, the feeling of him looming over your shoulder nags at you, and by the time you’re back at the lake house you tell her that maybe it’s best you went back to Riverdale for the night.

“You can’t be serious.” She’s standing by the doorway to her room, preventing you from walking inside and grabbing your things. “You’re just going to take off because you’re scared of him?”

“It’s not just that.” You try to duck under her arm, but there still isn’t enough space for you to squeeze through. “Your family bought out my family’s business - the newspaper! Do you know what that means? The Lodges have complete control of what gets printed and what doesn’t. Your parents can tailor the stories to their liking. If my parents so much as think about posting anything remotely accusatory about them, they can toss them out just like that.”

She rolls her eyes, but you can tell she knows you made a good point. “B, come on, that’s not-”

“Your family also bought out the drive-in and managed to close down Southside High, which were two of the few places where Jughead felt like he belonged somewhere, and you also bought out his entire damn neighbourhood. Oh, and now you own Pop’s - you own the one place in town that feels like a safe space for all of us - a place where we can just hang out and feel like we’re normal teenagers for a few hours.” You bite your bottom lip, knowing you’re going to regret what you’re planning to say next. “I’m supposed to hate you - I _did_ hate you. I hated what your family did to my friends and family, I hated what they did to my hometown. I look at your dad and he’s a reminder of everything I’m supposed to be feeling for you.” You shake your head and laugh to yourself, realizing how much of a joke this is, how stupid you’re being. “I’m going behind all of their backs for you, and for what? What is this, exactly? What am I supposed to call it?”

She drops her arms and they hang listlessly by her sides. Her mouth is slightly parted, but she has no words. Instead, she steps aside for you, and you brush past her so you can shove your clothes into your bag. When you’re finished, you sling your pack over your shoulder and march straight outside, wrenching the car door open and forcing yourself into the driver’s seat. You keep your eyes focused on your shoes as you turn the key in the ignition, and when you finally back out of the long driveway and peel onto the road you finally feel everything collapse inside of you and you have no choice but to pull over so you can sob into the steering wheel.

The rational part of you is screaming the same question in your ear: _What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?_ And your only response is to cry harder because you don’t know what the hell you’re supposed to be doing. You don’t know what you’re supposed to be feeling, what exactly it is you want out of this. You desperately search for someone to blame - Your parents, for instilling the hate in you in the first place; Archie, for being bad at directions and accidentally leading you to her; Toni, for giving you the illusion that it’s possible to love someone, to have them love you back, and to actually make it last - but at the end of the day you know the only person to blame is yourself. You allowed yourself to believe that this was going to work somehow, that maybe you can convince an entire town that this girl isn’t her father and that his mistakes aren’t hers, and they’ll accept that and you can finally take her to Pop’s and get her that milkshake you promised. You were a fool to think it could happen so easily.

You allow yourself to miss her for ten more minutes, and then you pull yourself together and resume the long drive back to Riverdale. When you drag yourself through the front door your mother is just about to lecture you on at least coming in quietly if you’re going to be coming back so late, but when she spots the redness around your eyes she sternly reminds you to lock the door before heading upstairs.

It’s nearly three in the morning when you finally put yourself to bed. Your phone is humming with an incoming text, but you’re so exhausted from breaking your own heart that it completely slips under your radar before you sink into oblivion.

 

* * *

  

> _**VI. Shall I find no other?** _

 

You probably should have answered that text.

You get a grand total of three hours of sleep. The sun is barely poking its head over the horizon when you swing your legs over the side of your bed. You blearily rub the fatigue out of your eyes before automatically reaching for your phone.

There are only three words, but they’re impactful enough to jolt you to your feet and send you scrambling down the stairs.

_Come out, please._

You’re so antsy that you fumble with the lock a few times before finally getting the door open, and when you find the slumbering girl slumped on your doorstep with her hair all over the place and her dress wrinkled, the tears shoot to your eyes. You drop to your knees and gently shake her shoulders, whispering, “Hey, wake up, I’m so sorry,” Over and over again before sliding one arm under her knees and wrapping the other around her shoulders, easily scooping her into your embrace. You make a note of how she weighs practically nothing when you carry her inside, shouldering the door closed and tiptoeing up the steps back into your room. You gently place her on your bed and draw the covers over her, brushing the hair from her forehead. You’re whispering your apology again as you sit on the floor next to your bed, taking her cold hand in yours and squeezing every few seconds. You know she isn’t dying, you know she isn’t in any imminent danger, but you still feel a sense of urgency. If she doesn’t wake up soon or show any indication that she’s okay, you’re never going to forgive yourself.

She finally stirs a few minutes later, rolling on her side so she can face you. Her eyes flutter half-open, and you resist the temptation to reach out and smooth the confused creases on her forehead. “What are you doing on the floor?” She asks this as if she just didn’t spend the past few hours sleeping outside on your front porch, as if you didn’t storm out of her house last night after insulting her and whatever it is you share. Her voice is hoarse, but tender, and when she tugs on your arm you give in and crawl into bed next to her, pulling her in as close as you can before showering her with kisses.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur in between each one, sloppily moving from her neck to her shoulder, and when you feel the rumble of her laugh against your cheek you shake your head. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” She pulls back just enough so she can get a good look at you. She knows you spent most of the night crying, because her fingers are tracing the tear stains on your cheeks. You’ve only been apart for a few hours, but you’re relishing in the sensation of her touch like you haven’t had it in centuries. It almost tempts you to start crying again, but you’ve already proven to her how stupid you can be, so you try your best to hold it in. “You’re just cute when you underestimate me.”

Now it’s your turn to pull back. “What?”

“Do you really think that your town’s vendetta against my dad is enough to keep me from you?” She kisses the spot under your ear, where your jawbone connects with the rest of your skull. “Betty, I get what you were trying to say back there, really, I do. I get that you hate that my parents are eating up your town and seizing control of all of the things that are dear to you. Trust me, I’m not a big fan of it either. But I don’t think that’s why you took off last night.”

You’re starting to feel anxious, but you’re not sure why. “I don’t get where you’re going with this.”

“If you want me to be brutally honest with you…I think you’re afraid.” Her voice drops to a whisper. Her hand returns to your cheek, her thumb tenderly brushing your skin. “You thought you had something with Archie, but it ended up becoming something else. You wanted something with Jughead, but he didn’t want it back. Then you finally found what you were looking for with Toni, only for her find it with someone else. You’re scared that things are working out so well between us because you think there’s a catch somewhere - and you don’t really know what it is, so you’re using my family’s history with Riverdale as an excuse because it’s the only logical thing that comes to mind.”

You don’t realize how right she is until she starts to kiss your tears away.

“Let’s just let this happen while it can still happen.” She coos, kissing your cheeks, your nose, the corners of your mouth. “Allow yourself to feel what you want to feel. I’m not going anywhere.”

The logical part of you wants to ask her where she thinks this is going to go when summer ends, but thinking about that makes your chest hurt, so you nod and kiss her instead. Her fingers tug at your hair and you gasp in her mouth as a response, and you can feel her lips curve against yours in a smirk before she rolls on top of you.

“My mom should be leaving for work soon,” You mumble against her as she toys with the waistband of your shorts. “But my brother and sister-”

“Then we’ll be extra quiet, won’t we?” She reaches into your underwear and you whimper when she touches you exactly where you want to be touched.

—

She later explains that she told her parents the truth about where she was going, and while they weren’t happy about it they also accepted that wasn’t much they could do, because once she sets her mind on something it’s impossible to convince her otherwise. Andre was the one who dropped her off, and he insisted that he set her up at a hotel or something instead of just dumping her on your front lawn with nothing but a large Louis Vuitton bag full of clothes, but she didn’t want it any other way.

You introduce her to your siblings, and thankfully they’re open-minded enough to separate her from her family and what they've done. Your niece and nephew take an immediate liking to her, and a part of you hates that you melt when you see her with a baby because it gives you hope for the future, and you don’t know what your future is going to be like - or if there’s going to be one at all. Your mother, of course, had nothing nice to say about her surprise house guest, but with all three of her children against her it was hard to make a valid point. You have no idea what your father’s been up to lately since the divorce, but you’re sure he wouldn’t have cared either way - he was the one who allowed the Lodges to buy the Register in the first place.

You tell Archie she managed to escape home for a little bit and is currently staying with you, and like you expected he’s ecstatic at the news. You’re aware that you’re lying to him, but it’s not that you think he’d judge you, because you know for sure he would never do such a thing; it’s more like you’re trying to find the right opportunity to tell him about the true nature of your relationship, and it just hasn’t come yet. Jughead, of course, isn’t happy about this, but he knows she makes you happy (You don’t tell him why, but let’s face it - he probably has it figured it out by now) so he quietly relents.

So you, Jughead, and Archie show her around town. You hang out on the bleachers of Riverdale High’s football field and listen to Archie strum his guitar. After some begging and a hefty bribe that involves a dozen burgers, Jughead takes you to the White Wyrm, where Sweet Pea teaches her how to play his favourite arcade game. You finally get to bring her to Pop’s, and she’s shyly holding her hand to her face when you whip out your phone to take a picture of her.

“Why do you have that?” She cries, though she’s barely decipherable between suppressed bouts of laughter. “Put it away!”

“This is your first time having a Pop’s milkshake.” You’re grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. “I have to commemorate this.”

Unable to hold it in any longer, she leans forward and shakes her head as she gives into her laughter, and you snap the photo just in time to capture the moment. Your heart bursts at the finished product: She’s sitting across from you in your usual booth with a double chocolate milkshake, her black waves of hair suspended in the air, her eyes shut closed, and her mouth frozen mid-laugh. The neon lights from the window cast her in shades of pink and purple; it almost looks like an oil painting. It’s perfect. She’s perfect.

It’s like things have finally fallen into place, right?

Nearly a week after she arrived at your doorstep, you’re lying in bed trying to fall asleep when your phone begins to vibrate. You carefully detach yourself from her, rolling around so you can reach for your phone, and your brow furrows when you find a text from the boy across the street.

_R u up? Can’t sleep._

You slowly get out of bed, careful not to wake her, and sleepily lumber over to your window, peering through the blinds and waving when you find Archie waving back. He points downward, gesturing to the swing on his front porch, and you give him a thumbs up. You quickly lean over her to press a kiss to her forehead before creeping out of your room and out of your house. Archie’s already sitting down, dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts.

“You couldn’t even bother to put on a shirt?” You smirk when you take a seat next to him, and you roll your eyes when a timid chuckle is his only response. “What’s up, Arch? Something the matter?”

He shakes his head, still chuckling. “No, it’s nothing like that. I guess a lot of stuff has just been happening lately and I feel like I’m only starting to catch up with all of it.”

“I know what you mean.” You nod, leaning back against the swing. “It’s been a whirlwind these past few weeks, but in a good way. It knocks serial killers and surprise incest out of the park.”

“Yeah, definitely.” He smiles for you, and you can’t help but smile back. “You’ve been really happy lately, Betty. The happiest I’ve seen you in a long time.” The look he’s giving you right now is just as soft as his voice.

You know where this is going, but much to your surprise you aren’t afraid; in fact, you almost feel relieved that you’re finally getting around to talking about this. “Things have just been really great, you know? After everything that’s happened last year, things are finally starting to feel okay again, like there actually is hope for us to live normal lives.”

He nods and drops his eyes to his his lap. “Betty, I think you know why I asked you to meet me here.” He suddenly raises his head, and you notice that he’s staring at your window from across the street.

You can feel the embarrassment burning your cheeks. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

When he laughs, you groan and playfully smack him on the shoulder, but that only prompts him to laugh louder. “I know I’m oblivious, Betty, but I’m not that oblivious.” He pauses to run a hand through his rusty hair. “I dunno - I notice that when you look at her, something in you just kind of…lights up. You glow.” His hand moves to the back of his head. “Does that sound weird? It sounds weird to me.”

You’re hoping that the sudden rise in temperature is just climate change and not because Archie’s words are hitting a lot closer to home than you want to admit. “No, no, it doesn’t sound weird at all. That’s exactly how I feel when I look at her.” You glance up at your window, and your smile instantly returns. “Honestly, it’s like…like all of the stuff we’ve been through last year had a purpose - like everything that happened had to happen, or else we wouldn’t have met.”

“You know, I used to think that way about you.” Archie’s staring straight ahead, like there’s something incredibly intriguing standing in the middle of the street, but when you turn to look there’s nothing there. “I used to think that the universe had somehow arranged itself so that you and I could end up on the same street, in every class, going through every life milestone together.” He shakes his head and laughs again, only this time it’s a lot quieter and sadder. “But I guess the universe can be wrong sometimes.”

You move your hand over his. “It wasn’t wrong. I still believe that there were a number of things that led us to each other. It’s just that, in the beginning, we weren’t sure why.” He turns his head to stare at your joined hands, and you squeeze before giving him an encouraging smile. “But we know now, right?”

The pain in your chest subsides when he squeezes back. “Yeah, we do.” He pulls back so he can throw his arm around you, and you respond by hugging him as tight as you can. Your head rests on his broad shoulder and you close your eyes as you listen to the rhythm of his breathing. “I’m happy for you, Betty - really, I am. I’m glad things worked out for you in the end.”

 _In the end._ He’s making it sound like things are set in stone, that the way things are now will be the way things will always be - but there is only a month and a half of summer left, which means you only have a month and a half to figure out what exactly you have with her before her father drags her back to New York. Is it love? Is it okay to call her your girlfriend? What’s going to happen when summer ends? Is she willing to do long-distance? New York is only three and a half hours away, but it’s far enough for you to understand that seeing each other every week just isn’t going to be possible.

You mull over this as Archie hugs you closer, and when you both glance upward to awe at the stars mottled across the black sky you’re hit with the sudden realization that time is running out.

 

* * *

  

> **_VII. Prone to misery_ **

 

You know she isn’t wanted here, and she knows it too. When you walk down the street with your hands entwined, you can feel their eyes on you. They’re scrutinizing every movement and wordlessly asking why you brought her - the devil’s spawn, the scorn of the town - here, to lovely, small, all-American Riverdale, where everyone likes to pretend nothing bad ever happens. It used to bother you, but you eventually become desensitized to it. She, on the other hand, is thriving in it, explaining that the best way to get back at your haters is to let them know you’re enjoying the attention they’re giving you, and you have to admit that it makes a bit of sense. Why put so much energy into disliking someone when there are a billion better things to do with your time?

But it isn’t always passive-aggressive remarks and distant glaring.

“I can’t believe Ethel actually paid money for a milkshake, only to dump it on you.” You shake your head as she bends over the bathroom sink at Pop’s to rinse out the last of the strawberry out of her hair. “I get she’s upset with what happened with her dad, but that wasn’t your fault.”

“But a lot of people don’t care about that.” She straightens up and kisses your cheek when you hand her your hoodie. “The second they see anything Lodge their first instinct is to denounce it.” She sighs as she pulls your sweater over her head; it’s at least two times too big for her and you love it. “It’s not that big a deal, really. I should’ve expected this.”

“That doesn’t mean you deserve it.” You insist as you leave Pop’s together. You circle around to the side of the building, where you parked your car. “It’s stupid that they’re making you the poster child for their hate when you literally had nothing to do with anything your dad did. You didn’t even know most of these buyouts were happening.”

“It’s fine, Betty.” She insists. “No matter how you spin it, the fact of the matter is I’m the child of a criminal. That’s all they’re going to see me as.”

“But you’re more than that.” You raise your hands to gently cradle her face. “You’re so much more than what they’re allowing themselves to believe about you. I want them to see you the way I see you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And what do you see?”

You’re taken back to that night at the hot tub, where she asked you a similar question. You weren’t able to answer her then, but you have the right words now. “I see…” You hum, feigning contemplation, and she lets out a soft laugh. “A girl who was crazy enough to let three strangers stay with her in her massive lake house because she knew they’d get hopelessly lost in the woods if they stayed out any longer. A girl who’s probably the only person in this whole universe who has a bigger classic literature collection than Jughead.” She rolls her eyes at this, and you grin. “A girl who’s everything everyone doesn’t think she is: Kind, selfless, brilliant…good, and full of love.” When her eyes begin to glaze over with tears, you lean in to touch her forehead with hers. “A girl who deserves a chance to prove to everyone that she’s her own person and not what her parents have done.” You kiss the end of her nose. “A girl who’s worth fighting off an entire town for.” You hear her hiccup, and you kiss her nose again. “A girl I’d rearrange the stars for.”

You gently push her forward so that her back is pressed against the brick wall of the diner. Her hands grasp your collar and she tugs down hard, smashing your lips together, and she kisses you like her life depends on it.

 _I need you,_ she tells you through the way she clings to you.

 _I need you too,_ You reply when you kiss her back with the same kind of desperation.

—

Interestingly enough, the Serpents take a liking to her. When Hiram bought out the trailer park he erased all debts, which meant that no one was going to get evicted. Jughead and his father are the only ones who know this is just a distraction from Hiram’s real plan, whatever that may be. The constant suspicion throws a wrench into your relationship, which really sucks because you thought that after everything that happened between you, including the stuff that went down with Chic, you and Jughead are finally on good terms again - but he’s constantly grilling you with questions on her and her family, and you can only exercise so much restraint.

“Jug, that’s enough.” You shake your head; you’re sitting at a table in the White Wyrm with him while she’s mingling with the other Serpents. “I told you everything I know, and it’s nothing you can’t find on the internet or in a newspaper. She doesn’t have anything to do with this master plan you think her dad’s secretly plotting.”

“Hiram Lodge is arrested for fraud and embezzlement, but is mysteriously acquitted of all charges - and the first thing he does when he’s free is buy out half of his hometown and close down a high school. You don’t think that’s weird?” His laugh is dark, sarcastic. “Betty, you’re better than this. You’re letting your emotions trivialize your journalistic integrity. There is no way she isn’t involved. She has to know something, and you’re the only one who can find out what that is.”

“Are you implying that you want me to interrogate her?” You almost want to slap him. “Her parents already betrayed her; she doesn’t need another person she trusts going behind her back.”

“That’s the thing - she trusts you.” His leather jacket groans as he leans forward in his seat. “You can use that to your advantage. We can finally gain leverage on the Lodges and take back the Southside, take back all of Riverdale! Wasn’t that what you wanted - for everything to go back to at least a semblance of normalcy? If we continue to let the Lodges buy out every single institution in this place we’ll no longer have control. It won’t be our town anymore once they slap their name all over it. Remember what happened to Southside High? They got it closed it down, Betty, and now they want it to become a-”

“Prison,” You finish for him. “But I’m telling you the truth when she said she didn’t know about these buyouts when they happened. Her dad never told her he was planning to buy Pop’s, or the drive-in, or the trailer park - he just did it, and she found out herself when she decided to snoop around his office. What can you expect her to do at this point when the property’s officially under his name?”

“She was able to covertly pay for Mr. Andrews’ medical bills and build an entire new wing at the hospital.” Jughead deadpans. “If she has the power to do that, she can definitely do something about Southside High - so why isn’t she?” He shakes his head before taking a sip of his Coke. “I don’t want Jellybean growing up in a place where she only has two options for her future: Get out, or work at a prison. She deserves better than that - your niece and nephew deserve better than that. Don’t they?”

You look away from your table, towards the jukebox she and a group of younger Serpents are crowded around. She catches your stare and she smiles at you, but you can’t find it in you to genuinely return it. You smile back, but it feels forced, and your heart sinks.

“When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one’s self, and one always ends by deceiving others.” You know exactly what he’s quoting, and you hate him for it. You want to run home and light that stupid book on fire.

“This is what the world calls a romance.”

—

A part of you wants to blame Jughead for sewing the seeds of doubt, but at the same time you’re starting to think that maybe he’s right, that your emotions are blinding you from the truth about her and why she’s really here.

You don’t want her to know, but the thing about the both of you is that you’re freakishly in tune with each other, so she immediately figures out that something is wrong. “B,” She cups your cheek with a hand later that night when you’re tangled in bed together. “I know you’re not sleeping. What’s the matter?”

You give her a quick peck on the lips before sighing and rolling on your back. “It’s just…Jughead has been on me lately. He’s asking a lot of questions about you and your dad and your family’s business, and I’m getting tired of it. He believes you have a bigger role in this, like you’re just as involved in this as your parents are - but I keep telling him that you told me that you aren’t. I don’t know what else to say to him, honestly.”

She’s silent for a moment, but then she moves closer towards you, fitting her head against the curve of your neck. “I’m sorry. I know the entire town’s out to get me, but you’re also suffering for it and I feel awful. It’s me Jughead should be bothering, not you.”

“I don’t care about what they’re doing to me - it’s more the fact that they don’t believe me no matter what I tell them.” You tighten your arms around her. “They don’t have to like you, but they should at least know that there’s a difference between who you are and who your parents are.”

“When people are set in their ways it’s very difficult to change their minds.” She mumbles against your skin. “We should just leave this place, start new somewhere. We can just hop in your car and drive far away from all of this.”

Now your head is swimming with fantasies: You and her lounging around in your cozy little apartment, you and her brunching at your favourite cafe every Sunday, you and her doing boring, stupid domestic things like shopping for furniture or cooking dinner or arguing over whose turn it is to do the laundry. You hate that this imaginary future sounds so appealing. You hate that it’s suddenly something you really want to come true. “I heard NYU has a really good journalism program.”

“New York’s too close.” She shifts, propping herself up with an elbow and resting her cheek against her palm. “I was thinking west coast, like California. Sunshine, beaches, palm trees - we won’t ever have to worry about summer ending. It can be like this every day, just you and me.”

 _We won’t ever have to worry about summer ending._ Her words reverberate painfully inside of you, ricocheting off your bones. You don’t ever want summer to end, because when it ends that means this ends too - this, as in you and her. So it only makes sense to move to a place where it’s summer every day, right?

You roll on your side to face her. “Well, USC was my second choice anyway.”

You can see her smiling even though it’s dark in your room. She moves in to kiss you, and like clockwork you lean in to return it. Your hands rise to frame her face as she crawls on top of you, and you revel in her taste as your brain continues to sift through pretend memories of your life in California like they already happened. You can almost hear the ocean waves crashing outside your window. You can picture your tiny little kitchen and the equally tiny den with a couch that’s barely big enough for the both of you. You can smell the blueberry pancakes you know you’ll be making for her every morning.

When she briefly pulls away to catch her breath, you’re suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that you’ve never wanted anything so badly before.

“I love you.” You whisper against her mouth when she leans in again. Your heart is hammering against your chest, fully aware of the impact of your words, and for a moment you’re frozen with panic. What if this isn’t love to her? What if it’s just some ploy to get away from her family? What if you’re just a pawn in that ploy?

But when you feel her lips curve against yours in a small smile, the fear quickly melts away and your chest swells with something warm and whole. “I’m pretty sure I’ve always loved you, Betty Cooper.” The way she worded that makes you think that she also believes you’ve known each other from some previous life - so if the both of you feel the same way, that must mean it’s true.

There’s no way she can look you in the eye and lie about wanting to run away to California together. She wants this just as much as you do and you know it because you can feel it in the way she holds you, you can taste it on her tongue when you kiss, you can hear it in her voice when she tells you she’s always loved you. There’s no way she can love you like this and not mean it.

 _You’re wrong, Jughead,_ You think when your lips meet. _You’re wrong about her._ You kiss again. _You’re wrong._

 

* * *

 

> _**VIII. The last time that you touched me** _

 

The days pass, and before you know it there’s a week left before August turns into September. You’ve been dreading this ever since you found her on your doorstep, but whenever she catches you freaking out over it she reminds you of your California plan, and even though you know it’s not going to happen it soothes you anyway. You talk about your plans to sneak out on the last night, how you’re going to shove whatever you can fit into your backpack, throw it into the trunk of your mom’s station wagon, and drive until you hit the coast, and you muscles ease up and your heartbeat slows down. You’ve convinced yourself that this farfetched dream is going to come true, but you don’t want to tell yourself otherwise because it’s the only thing you have going for you right now. Lying to yourself is better than acknowledging that a week from now, you’ll be waking up every morning in your bed without her.

It’s the night of Reggie’s end of summer party, and he was gracious enough to allow her to come with you as a plus one. You were actually planning to use her as an excuse not to go, because you’d much rather spend the night with her instead of in a house with dozens of your drunk classmates, but she insisted on going because this is probably her last opportunity to connect with everyone and to get them to see she isn’t who they think she is.

You can hear the music thumping as you lead her up the steps to Reggie’s front door, and when he opens it for you and you’re pushed into the crowd of dancing bodies you already feel like it’s time to go home. You tighten your grip on her hand as you try to navigate through the hallway, and when you enter the kitchen you’re nearly thrown off your feet in surprise when everyone in the room enthusiastically greets her like an old friend they haven’t seen in ages. You raise an eyebrow at Midge as she mixes her a rum and Coke, and when Moose and the other guys from the football team pat her on the back and tell her it’s a shame they didn’t get to hang out over the summer your suspicion continues to grow.

You run into Josie in the living room, who tells you that you should head to the backyard because the Pussycats will be playing soon and she wants to make sure the both of you are in the front row. She’s ecstatic at this, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you outside to secure your spot, but you can’t help but feel there is something very, very wrong. When Josie, Valerie, and Melody take to the stage - because Reggie’s backyard is actually big enough to accommodate one - and she’s dancing with a few River Vixens you can’t find it in yourself to dance with them.

Their set ends nearly forty-five minutes later. Reggie grabs Josie’s microphone and tells everyone to give the Pussycats a hand before jumping into a spiel about how this summer was unforgettable, how junior year is going to be their best year yet, how proud Jason Blossom probably is for everyone pulling together as one after everything that happened the past year - you lose interest a couple minutes in and you begin to search the crowd, hoping you’ll find Archie or Jughead or Kevin or anyone who might be able to tell you what the hell is going on.

“And last but definitely not least, I want to give a quick shoutout to our guest of honour, Veronica Lodge.” Reggie gestures to her, and everyone breaks out in applause. She looks flustered yet flattered, but the anxiety is already jumping around inside of you. “Come up here, girl - show everyone how beautiful you are.” He takes her hand and pulls her onto the stage, and everyone cheers louder. She curtsies, her smile broad and blindingly white, and all you want to do is grab her by the hand and hide her away.

“I’ll admit that things haven’t been great between us.” Reggie places a hand on his chest, as if he actually means this bullshit. “On behalf of Riverdale, I just want to apologize. You’re a part of this town just as much as any of us are, and you deserve to feel like you belong here.” When she shyly thanks him, he throws her a sly grin - that same grin he always throws right before he does something absolutely atrocious.

The girl next to you hands you a sheet of paper; it’s a poorly Photoshopped picture of her with devil horns and a tail. The words _DID YOU KNOW?_ are edited over her head, and there are more words scribbled around her. You read them, and your insides grow cold.

_Backstabber._

_Veronica knew Southside High was closing._

_Fake._

_Mean girl._

_Veronica Lodge is a stakeholder in her parents’ business and will be profiting personally from it._

_Stuck up._

_Evil._

_She knew they were turning Southside High into a prison._

_Liar Lodge._

_Money bags._

_She knew Mayor McCoy was taking bribes from her father._

“After all,” Reggie snidely adds before handing her a copy; he snickers when he eyes her horrified expression. “You helped turn this place into the paradise it is today.”

You slowly glance up from the flyer, your disbelieving eyes locking onto her hurt ones. Everyone around you - River Vixens, football players, Southside Serpents, theatre kids, the debate club - is murmuring amongst each other, pointing at the girl on stage and throwing her venomous glares. Your head feels like it’s spinning, and you suddenly feel sick to your stomach.

She knew about the buyouts this whole time?

She’s a stakeholder in her parents’ business? So Jughead was right all along?

You shove your way through the crowd, the tears blurring your vision. You stumble back into the house, ignoring the jeers people are throwing your way as you skip the line to the bathroom; you wrench the door open, kick out the current occupant, and collapse by the toilet so you can empty the contents of your stomach into its bowl. You sob as your shoulders quiver from both your heaving and the fact that she lied to you, that she’s been lying to you all this time, and that you’ve been played for a fool.

You sit in defeat for a few more minutes before flushing the toilet and rinsing out your mouth in the sink. Everyone’s staring at you, but you don’t care. You just want to go home and lock yourself in your room for the rest of your life.

“Betty!” You hear her call out to you when you’re halfway across Reggie’s front lawn, but you don’t turn around to face her. “Betty, stop. Please. Let me explain.”

“What is there to explain?” You finally whirl around, the tears streaking down your face. “You lied to me. You told me you didn’t know anything about your parents buying out half the town until it already happened. You said you didn’t know they were planning to turn Southside High into a prison!”

“When my parents asked me to help them, I didn’t feel like I could say no.” Her eyes are pleading but you’re frenetic with anger at this point. You’re unable to absorb anything she’s trying to tell you. “You don’t know what they’re capable of, B. They can-”

“Of course you could’ve - you freaking bought the hospital a new wing. You paid for Archie’s dad’s medical bills. You definitely have the power to stop whatever it is your parents are planning for this place. You could’ve told them that you didn’t want to be their teen accomplice - or, at the very least, you could’ve told me the truth!” You blink rapidly as fresh tears spring to your eyes. “So what was all of this, then? Was this a plan too? Did your parents tell you to soften me up, to get me on your side so I can persuade everyone to accept the fact that your dad is going to rule this place with an iron fist?”

“No, no. Of course not.” She reaches for you, but you take a step back. You twitch when you read the pain on her face, but you make no further movement. “I was just trying to keep them honest. That’s why I started working with them - because I thought that maybe, if I got them to believe I was with them, I could get them to change, and I could turn Lodge Industries legitimate. I would never, ever do something like that to you. I love you, Betty - everything I felt, everything I still feel for you is real.” Her voice breaks as she begins to cry. “You have to believe me.”

“No. I can’t trust you.” There’s a small crowd forming by Reggie’s front steps, which means you have to wrap this up. The last thing you want right now is attention. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Not anymore.” You turn on your heel and force yourself to walk forward, even though a part of you is aching to run back to her, to wipe the tears from her cheeks and tell her that there might still be a way to work this out, that maybe you should leave for California right now.

“Betty, wait!” She cries out to you, but you’re already on the other side of the street, pulling yourself farther and farther away.

 

* * *

  

> _**IX. Blessed be the mystery of love** _

 

Andre arrives at your doorstep the next morning to pick up her things. You eye the black Cadillac sitting by the curb, but the windows are tinted so you can’t see if she’s sitting inside. The second that Louis Vuitton bag leaves your hand, the world becomes duller, like the colour has been sucked out of everything. You can only see in shades of grey. Music sounds damp and muffled. Food doesn’t even taste good anymore.

Archie is bombarding you with calls and texts, begging you to talk to him, and you respond by turning off your phone and shoving it into your desk drawer. You spend the next few days huddled underneath the covers of your bed, watching the sun move through the fabric of your blanket as the hours trickle by. Your mother would slip into your room to leave you food, but it always goes untouched. Polly tries to convince you to come out because the twins miss you and Chic even offers to sneak you into the Bijou for a free movie, but nothing works. You cry yourself to sleep and you wake up with tears in your eyes.

You replay your argument over and over in your head and you find yourself thinking of all the things that could’ve happened if you chose to stay. Maybe you should have listened to her. She was trying to tell you something about the authority her parents have over her, but you cut her off before she could go into detail. What if she was trying to tell you that she had no choice but to obey them, that there were dire consequences if she so much as even thought of refusing them? What if she left Shadow Lake that day because she wanted to escape them? What if she loved you because you’re the only one who actually treats her like a person? Maybe you should have let her explain everything before you decided she was a liar - but then you’re reminded of the fact that she hid so much from you, that she told you she didn’t know when in reality she knew all along, and just like that your wounds reopen and you’re angry all over again.

But let’s face it - despite how you feel, you still miss her. You find yourself reaching for her in the middle of the night even though you know she’s not there. You eye the blueberry pancakes your mother leaves for you in the morning and you suddenly burst into tears. You finally turn your phone back on and stare at the photo on your lock screen, the one you took of her when she had her first milkshake at Pop’s. Your eyes run over her black hair, the complete elation in her expression, and you find yourself wanting to crawl through your phone screen so you can go back to that day when everything was still perfect and you were still happy.

Everything you felt, everything you still feel for her is real, and you can’t escape that.

On the last day of summer your mother knocks on your door and tells you that you have a visitor. The deprived, lovesick part of you wants to believe that she came back, so you rush down the stairs to greet her, but when you find Cheryl Blossom standing awkwardly in your foyer your shoulders sag with disappointment.

“Wow.” Her eyes move up and down as she takes in your haggard form. “You look like you’ve just been through all nine circles of hell.” She brushes past you and makes her way up the stairs, and you dumbly follow her. You find her in your room, opening your window before moving to sit on the edge of your bed. “Have you just been moping here for the past week?”

You shrug your shoulders before crawling back into bed and pulling the covers over your head. “Why are you even here?”

She yanks your blanket away, and you groan in protest. “A: I’m here to see my niece and nephew, and B: I’m also here to rescue you from yourself, and I apparently came in the nick of time because it looks like you’re on the brink of succumbing.” She pauses to toss her hair over her shoulder. “Why don’t we start with you telling me why you look like Tom Hanks in the latter half of The Castaway?”

“You were at Reggie’s party.” You mutter into your pillow. “You know why.”

“So you fell for a mobster’s daughter. Big deal.” She rolls her eyes. “You spent most of the summer not caring about what everyone thought of her, so why did they suddenly matter that one night?”

“Because it turned out that everything they’ve been saying about her is true. She lied to me about all of that, about not knowing what her parents were up to - and it all just blew up in my face that night.” You shake your head, laughing sadly to yourself. “She made me believe that she cared about me, Cheryl.”

“And you don’t think she did when you were together?” The redhead sighs. “I get that what she did to you was wrong, and she shouldn’t have hidden the truth from you, but at the same time this is also the Lodges we’re talking about. You remember that story about the St. Clair’s - how they went behind Hiram Lodge’s back one time in some business deal and they coincidentally got into a terrible car accident a day later? It was all over the news.”

“Yeah.” You vaguely remember reading about it. “But I don’t get what this has to do with her.”

“I’m saying that if her parents somehow arranged for that to happen to a non-relative who crossed them, imagine how much worse it would be if they found out their own blood went behind their back. Imagine growing up with parents like that, who only see you as a stepping stone in their grand scheme. She was probably coerced into working for them, for all we know.” She raises her manicured hands to her face, examining them. “Trust me, I know a thing or two about manipulative parents - and I’m sure you do too.”

Your mother’s come a long way from where she was a year ago, but you know exactly what Cheryl’s talking about. You slowly sit up, shifting so that you’re next to her. “I keep thinking about how I should’ve stayed that night. I should have listened to what she had to say.” You bury your face in your hands. “I know I wouldn’t have forgiven her right away - I’m still in the process of doing that, to be honest - but maybe things would’ve been different. She might still be here.”

“But she isn’t, and she’s never coming back, so you have to learn to accept that.” The sun pours in through your window and shines directly on Cheryl’s hair, making it look even redder than it already is. “She may have lied to you about a lot of things, Betty, but caring about you wasn’t one of them.”

Your chest begins to ache again, and you can feel a lump growing in your throat. This happens every time you catch yourself missing her. “What makes you say that?”

“If she didn’t, you probably wouldn’t be so hung up about her leaving.” Her voice softens as she turns to face you. “I think you’re trying to convince yourself that she never loved you because you think it’ll be easier to move on that way, but trust me - it’s not. If you’re so angry about her lying to you, why are you lying to yourself? You know that what you had with her was real. Just accept that. Accept that you loved someone who hurt you. The truth stings but in the long run it’s healthier to rip off the bandaid.”

You can feel the tears coming on, and you hiccup when you reach up to wipe them away. “No one’s ever loved me the way she did. Not even…” You trail off, not sure if it’s okay for you to complete your sentence.

“She’s worried about you too.” Cheryl frowns. “You, out of everyone I know, deserve to be loved, and to have that love stay.”

And that’s when everything you’ve been trying to avoid this past week comes rushing to you - the pain of her leaving, the regret of not staying when she wanted you to, the crazy fantasies of your Californian future together fading faster and faster - and you break down completely. Cheryl catches you as you fall forward and you sob into the fabric of her expensive sweater, but she doesn’t complain or protest. She rakes her fingers through your hair and listens to you cry, because she knows you’re hurting, she knows you want her here despite the fact that you’ve been telling yourself you don’t need her lately.

“Betty, I’m so sorry this happened to you.” You hear Cheryl murmur over your blubbering. “You’ve been through enough as it is and this was the last thing you needed - but I know you well enough to tell you that you can get through this, just like you’ve gotten through everything else. You just have to take it one day at a time. You don’t have to do this alone - I’m here for you, and Toni is too. You have Archie, and Jughead - we’re all here for you. We can help you get through this.”

You nod, unable to find the strength to form a proper sentence, and she responds by tightening her arms around you.

“It’s going to get better.” She tells you, but you don’t see how they can if the one person who’ll make things better is no longer here.

But you do what Cheryl says, and even though it’s difficult in the beginning things eventually get easier. You’re able to wake up in the morning without wanting to go back to sleep. You gradually start eating and enjoying things again. School’s back, which gives you more ways to keep your mind off of her, and you find yourself slipping back into the life you lived before you knew what it was like to have her in it.

It only gets really bad at nighttime, when you’re lying in bed at an ungodly hour in the morning. It’s the only time of the day where you allow yourself to miss her. You remember the way she would nestle against you before you drifted off to sleep, with her head fitted against the crook of your neck and her arm draped across your chest with her hand resting on your shoulder. You remember the scent of her perfume - something expensive and imported with a name in a language you can’t speak - and that’s when your chest caves in and the tears start to flow.

The weeks turn into months, and the months turn into years - but the gaping hole inside of you is just as big as ever. Even though you’re smiling again, even though Jughead’s jokes are funny again, even though hanging out with Archie is enjoyable again, you can still feel her absence pulling at you - but you learn to tolerate it. You’ve accepted that you’ll never be able to fill in what she left behind, and so you train yourself to live with the ache.

You miss her, you always will, but it eventually becomes an afterthought, a tiny voice at the back of your head that you can only hear when you’re alone.

—

It’s unseasonably chilly in Los Angeles. Your teeth begin to click together as you make your way off campus, rubbing your bare arms and mentally chastising yourself for not bringing your hoodie. You managed to survive three back-to-back midterms, and you made the decision to celebrate by taking yourself out to a nice dinner at your favourite restaurant. You barely have enough money for it, but you don’t remember the last time you’ve treated yourself. You deserve it, dammit.

You’re greeted by your favourite waitress when you head inside, and you beam at her when she tells you that your usual booth by the window is free. You slip into the worn leather seat, smiling to yourself as you think back to your usual booth at Pop’s. You can’t afford to fly home for the holidays this year, but Archie promised he’d visit you before Christmas, so you have that to look forward to. You reach for the menu and read it front to back, even though you already know what you’re going to order. You absently twist your faded yellow bracelet between your fingers as you wait for the waitress to swing by your table.

The door chimes as it swings open, but it’s only when you hear the sharp ticking of heels that you finally pull away from the menu to look up - because who in the blue hell would wear heels to a hole-in-the-wall diner?

Your heart stops when your eyes find those familiar waves of black hair. She’s wearing sunglasses so large it covers nearly half her face, but you already know what she looks like. You have her image burned into your brain.

She’s turning her head left and right, her brow furrowed in confusion. It looks like she didn’t mean to step in here, like she came here by accident. Maybe she was supposed to meet someone here, and she got stood up. Maybe she got the directions wrong and was supposed to end up someplace else. Whatever the reason is, it somehow led her back to you. The universe had some kind of happy accident and you're going to take full advantage of it.

She frowns when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for and she turns to leave, but you know better this time. You rise to your feet, scrambling across the diner, and reach for her arm just as she opens the door to head back outside. When she whirls around to face you her jaw nearly drops, and you almost want to cry at how beautiful she is. You've dreamt about her every night for the past four years, but your memory of her pales in comparison to what she's like in person.

“Hi there.” You smile as she pulls off her sunglasses, revealing the largest, darkest, most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen.

“You look lost.”


End file.
